


one look sends it coursing through the veins

by oh_no_oh_dear, pizzadog20



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Deaf Clint Barton, Ensemble Cast, F/F, F/M, Frenemies to friends to lovers, M/M, Marvel cameos galore!, Minor Clint Barton/Matt Murdock, Minor James "Rhodey" Rhodes/Tony Stark, Minor Misty Knight/Claire Temple, Minor Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Minor Sharon Carter/Natasha Romanov, Minor Steve Rogers/Thor, Racism, Recreational Drug Use, Rockstar AU, Slow Burn, Violence, enemies to fuckbuddies to lovers, soundtrack fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pizzadog20/pseuds/pizzadog20
Summary: Sam Wilson is the frontman for up and coming punk rock band Redwingz. Bucky Barnes fronts the multi-platinum mainstream heavy metal band Howling Commandos. When Redwingz is invited to tour the United States with Howling Commandos, Sam & Bucky get off to a bad start. Then they fuck. This is what happens before … and after.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's finally here! This is gonna be a wild ride so buckle up like Bucky's backpack!  
> Anywho, just a reminder, this a rock n roll based fic, so yes! There will be sex, drugs, violence, ect. We'll be sure to place a warning on any chapters that contain drug use or violence for our readers. 
> 
> We hope you enjoy!

Sam eyed the bottle of green liquid with no small amount of trepidation as the rhythmic pounding shook the floor beneath him. He finally looked up from the bottle being thrust into his face to the smiling face above it, and steeled himself.

    “What’s in it?” he asked, having to raise his voice above the thudding music. He was using the mic stand for support, idly swaying back and forth as Allison shrugged out of her sweater and began her vocal exercises beside him.

Sharon Carter shook the bottle again, making the liquid inside slosh disconcertingly.  
“It’s got pineapple this time, get some Vitamin C in you,” she said, her voice having a weary quality from having this same damn discussion several times a week. Sam smiled a little, but he still eyed the green smoothie with suspicion.

    “Pineapple aaaaand….?”

    “Spinach, a little kale--”

    “Nah.” Sam grinned to take the sting off the rejection, even as he draped an arm around the drummer. She sighed, using her hip to nudge him.

    “Sam, you gotta eat better, man.”

    “Make a smoothie that don’t taste like grass and I’ll drink it,” Sam joked. He paused and took the bottle, more to make Sharon happy than anything else. To her credit, he was recovering from a bitch of a cold that’d had him rasping his way through a few sets, Allison having to pick up a lot of the slack.

    “Make sure you actually _drink_ it, Sammy. I put that raspberry honey in it and that shit ain’t cheap, babe.”

    “I thought honey wasn’t vegan?” Allison asked, accepting her own purplish smoothie from Sharon without complaint. Unlike Sam, who was half-hanging off his mic stand, Allison Blaire was upright and practically vibrating with energy to get started.

Sharon opened her mouth to reply, but the music suddenly went silent, distracting her. Rhodey moved his hand from the volume knob of his stereo; he always played music when the band was just fucking around, getting their gear together or smoking.

    “Heard some vegans use honey,” he said, slinging the strap of his bass guitar over his shoulder. Sharon half-shrugged before settling behind her drum kit.

    “Some of ‘em do. I don’t-- not for me. I use it for _some_ crybabies who can’t drink a green smoothie without sugar.” She smirked and stretched her arms above her head, waiting for Sam and Allison to finish their vocal runs.

    “Rhodey, that a new shirt?” Sam asked suddenly, having just glanced back to see if everyone was ready. The man in question spread his arms to show off the shirt, smiling a little.

    “Was wondering when you’d notice. We haven’t had a new Redwingz shirt in somethin’ like 2 years; merch sales were shit. The fans already have the old design, so…”

    “Nice,” Sam said, nodding appreciatively. “That Steve’s work?”

    “Yeah. Only did a couple for the band. Allison’s is--”

    “Glittery,” Sam and Sharon said at the same time. Allison grinned mischievously as she tuned her guitar.

    “Don’t tell me you’re _still_ mad about last year.”

    “I’ll stop being mad when I stop finding glitter in my goddamn jeans pockets,” Sam muttered. There had been an ‘incident’ involving ‘Allison accidentally leaving a container of gold glitter mixed into the band’s laundry.’ She had found it hilarious; the others, rather less so.

    “‘Kay, let’s run through this shit,” Rhodey said, checking the time on his phone. He offered a small smile before continuing.  
“If we get through the first song without fucking up, we can take a smoke break at the end.”

    “ _And_ I brought cookies,” Sharon added, tapping her drumsticks on her legs. Sam exchanged a knowing look with Allison. Sharon was the best drummer and the worst cook any of them had ever known.  
“Don’t be an asshole, you smoke Rhodey’s shit and you’d eat tree bark,” she continued, seeing their shared look and rolling her eyes.

Allison cleared her throat. “No comment.”

    “Rhodey, you got some new shit, man?” Sam asked. Rhodey’s only reply was a mysterious little smile and thumbing the strings on his bass.  
“Oh _shit_ , okay. All right, we startin’ with ‘[Drain](https://youtu.be/nFuP9FXLF8Q?t=10).’ Shar, keep it crisp. Al, remember to drop out right after the bridge, come back in real sweet and strong. Rhodey… do Rhodey. Let’s go.” Sam glanced around to make sure everyone was on board, wrapped his fingers around the mic, and leaned in.

“Al, you’re startin’. One! Two! One-two-three-four--”

**********

    “We _killed_ that,” Sharon said, exhaling a long stream of smoke. Sam reached for the joint, laughing a little.

    “Yeah, you _said_ that. Like four times.”

    “Wha? Shit, I’m _really_ high,” Sharon giggled. She was sprawled easily on the grass behind Rhodey’s house, enjoying the sunshine in just a sports bra and her jeans shorts. Sam’s head was cushioned against her stomach, and Allison had followed suit, laying her own head on Sam’s stomach. Rhodey was slumped in a deck chair with his sunglasses on as he checked the many texts and missed calls on his phone.  
  
    “Well, since we’re done with practice, I guess I can bring these bad boys out,” Sharon rustled around in her bag for a bit before pulling out a small container filled with what looked like brown hockey pucks.

Allison took one look at the tupperware container and let out a small groan. The last time Sharon had brought over her vegan cookies, it hadn’t gone over very well. She tried, she _did_ , but Sharon just wasn’t a very good cook.  
“What’s in them?” Rhodey called, glancing up from his phone to grimace at the cookies. Sharon perked up.

    “Let’s see… chocolate, some coconut. Ooh! And I used cashews instead of flour… and I jazzed it up with some chia seeds--”

    “Chia seeds? The nasty li’l things that get stuck in my teeth?” Sam interrupted. Sharon spoke loudly over him, continuing to list the ingredients.

    “-- _chia seeds_ , and best of all, they’re raw!”

    “You can’t use chia seeds instead of flavour, Sharon,” Allison said. Sharon just held out the container, wiggling her eyebrows.

    “Just _try_ ‘em!”

***

    “I’m dying,” Sam groaned, flopping back on the grass with a half-eaten cookie clutched in his hand.

Rhodey was on his second cookie, a mildly appalled look on his face as he chewed (he always ate Sharon’s cooking, but that didn’t mean he _enjoyed_ it), and Allison was just… making a face at the container. Sharon had already eaten 3 cookies with exaggerated gusto, and was reaching for a fourth when Rhodey’s phone rang.

    “Rhodey told me we got banned from Riot Room; the owner isn’t gonna change his mind,” Sam was saying, with an air of amusement. “Damn shame, ‘cos their bartender--”

    “The guy with the lip ring?” Allison asked, surreptitiously hiding her cookie in the grass beside her.

    “Yeah, him. I’d let him ruin my damn life,” he added, which earned him a swat on the arm from Allison. Sharon snorted before breaking down into laughter.

    “Yeah, I thought he was cute too!” Allison said.

    “You thought _he_ was cute?” Sharon asked, scowling slightly as she spotted the discarded cookie beside Allison.

    “Well, yeah! He _was_ cute!”

    “You’re usually picky ‘bout people,” Sharon shrugged. Allison was asexual, but she wasn’t averse to boy gossip, especially with Sam.

    “Yeah, I’m picky. The bartender made the cut,” Allison shrugged. She waved a little to get Sam’s attention. “Wait, so what happened at Riot Room?”

    “The owner’s a little _bitch_ ,” Sharon drawled. Rhodey frowned at them and stood to move away from their noisy chatter. He was speaking in a low voice as he slipped his shoes off and was dipped his legs in the water of his swimming pool (yes, swimming pool; since he’d been around the music business for a long time in addition to being part owner in a music store, he had earned just about enough to get a comfortable house in the outskirts of the city.)

Sam nodded at Sharon before turning back to speak to Allison.  
“We were meeting the fans before the show, and some dumbass asks for a picture with us, right? Get this, he fuckin’ _grabs Sharon’s tits_ \--”  
  
    “What?!” Allison said, sitting up. Sharon grimaced.  
  
    “Yeah…” she said, her voice a little angry. “‘Cos a $20 ticket means you get _full access_.” Sam squeezed her shoulder, his brow furrowing to match hers.  
“So I shoved him off, he fuckin’ _grabs_ me again so --”  
  
    “She punched him in the face,” Sam said, sounding oddly proud.  
  
    “Yeah, well… he had it comin’. Then he calls me a _cunt_ , like-- really? And Sam loses his goddamn mind--”  
  
    “The guy was a _fuckin’ prick_ ,” Sam hissed. Sharon allowed a half-smile before continuing.

    “Sam jumps in, this guy’s friends jump in, it’s a damn mess…”  
  
    “Where the hell was security?” Allison asked, spreading her hands in a ‘what the fuck?’ gesture.  
  
    “Losing their fuckin’ jobs,” Sam muttered.  
  
    “They were over by the doors,” Sharon said. “I dunno, everything happened so fast. Anyway, the owner of Riot Room said we were ‘unprofessional’--”

    “That’s bullshit!” Allison exclaimed.  
  
    “I know. So now we can’t go back because the owner is scared of a li’l blood. Fake as fuck,” Sam snorted.  
  
    “I mean … it’s called the ‘Riot Room’... and they have _punk rock bands_ there all the time… but you get in _one_ little fist-fight…” Sharon scoffed.  
  
    “I’m sorry,” Allison groaned. She had been at a photo shoot for a local fashion magazine before the concert, so she hadn’t been there for the fight.

Rhodey waved to get their attention and then gestured for quiet. He looked a little surprised, and had an unusually serious expression on his face as he spoke into the phone.  
“Yes, I’ll hold… hello? Yeah, this is Rhodes--”  
  
  
Sam pulled a sturgeon face at Sharon and Allison mouthed ‘ _This is Rhodes_ ’ with a mocking stern facial expression, making the three of them break into noisy snorts and snickers. Rhodey glared.  
“Yes. Well… thank you. Sorry, you heard from-- oh. _Oh_. Okay, yeah… yeah. Yeah. Uh… yeah, I’ve… heard of them. Uh-huh. And for how lo-- oh. I see. Mhm. Yes. I’d have to talk it over with the guys. Yeah. For sure. By the end of the day. Yeah. Thank _you_. Bye.”

The others had started listening keenly, abandoning all pretense of eating Sharon’s raw vegan ‘chocolate’ cookies.

Rhodey slowly lowered his phone, having just finished the call.  
“That was Phil Coulson.”

    “Who?”  
  
    “Remember when we played Edgefest in… I think it was ‘08? He always wore sunglasses, looked like an accountant? But he was a _beast_ in the moshpit--”  
  
    “Oh _god_ , I remember him,” Sharon laughed. She’d bought him a beer just because she liked his style.

Sam nodded. “Okay… what’d he want?”  
  
    “He’s managing that big tour for Howling Commandos, y’know?”  
  
    “Oh, Coulson’s in charge of _that_? Didn’t know he was a big-shot.”  
  
    “Yeah. So. You wanna open?”  
  
There was dead silence before Allison spoke (the other two were far too stoned, so their reaction times were shot.)  
  
    “Open for…”  
  
    “...the Howling Commandos,” Rhodey finished, a slow smile spreading across his face. Sam sat up suddenly, accidentally dislodging Allison from her comfortable position.  
  
    “Coulson wants the Redwingz to open up for fucking _Howling Commandos_?”  
  
    “Yeah.”  
  
Sharon’s eyes were wide, Allison covered her mouth with her hands, and Rhodey was intensely watching Sam’s reaction. In fact, all eyes were on Sam. As the founder and frontman of the Redwingz, it was ultimately his call.  
  
    “Shit,” Sam said softly, biting at his lip. “Okay, call Coulson.”  
  
    “And…?”  
  
    “And tell him we’re _fuckin’ opening for fuckin’ Howling Commandos_ ,” Sam said, breaking into a huge smile. Allison shrieked and hugged him hard around the middle, Sharon kissed his cheek and punched the air in celebration, and Rhodey laughed loudly as Sam wheezed (Allison wasn’t loosening her grip on him anytime soon.)

He had a little trouble getting Coulson to hear him over the whooping and joyous hollering in the background, but the tour manager got the gist.  
  
  
_Shit. We’re going on tour_.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come scream with us about Winterfalcon and everything Sam Wilson on Tumblr! [HERE](http://spooky-coffee-jelly.tumblr.com/) and [HERE](http://spooky-redwing.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The song that Redwingz was practicing is "Drain the Blood" by the Distillers. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ht5YWfYBF4


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the final night of their European tour, Howling Commandos' manager finally finds the opener for their North American tour. Also, boobs happen.

_Stockholm, Sweden_

 

 

They were _nice tits_ , there was no denying that. Clearly natural, heavy and rounded, and the girl was very enthusiastic in her display, even cupping one for good measure.  
  
It’s not that Clint didn’t think they were … nice… it’s just that, well, he was a married man.  
  
They were nice, though. Really.  
  
How he came to see said tits was a simple enough story: Howling Commandos had just finished a killer set. Misty absolutely nailed her solo and Bucky kept the crowd in the palm of his hand as they debuted their new song “[Two Weeks](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnQ9yyTFvp0),” making the crowd go absolutely insane. After the encore, the band was at the barrier greeting fans when Clint felt Nat enthusiastically tapping his shoulder, trying to get his attention. He’d glanced up and had been met with an eyeful of tit (not Nat’s, natch.) Not quite knowing what else to do, and seeing as he was a married man, Clint gave the young lady an awkward thumbs up. He saw Nat saying something to the topless woman, and then they took a quick selfie together.  
  
Once they got the end of the barricade, security ushered the band out of the stage area.  
  
Nat caught up to Clint and showed him the selfie with the girl, making him close his eyes briefly in a distinct ‘give-me-strength’ way.

    “ _Did you have to flash_ ** _your_** _boobs too?”_ he signed, looking exasperated. Nat just shrugged, stuffing the phone back into her pants.  
  
    “ _Yep._ ” Nat grinned suddenly. “ _She’s coming back for a brown with us later._ ”  
  
Clint looked horrified. “ _She’s coming back for a_ ** _what_** _?!”_ _  
__  
“A brown!”  
_  
A sudden look of realization came across Clint’s face. “Nat, you fuck-up, did you mean ‘beer’? _”_ he said aloud.  
  
Nat paused. “Wait, what did I say?”  
  
    “Never mind. It was horrible and I don’t wanna talk about it any more.”  
  
  
In front of them, Bucky flung an arm around Misty’s shoulders, drawing her attention away from a small cluster of fans begging to have their shirts signed.  
  
    “And there you thought you were gonna fuck up your solo...”  
  
    “ _Fuck,_ I know, but it was a new song--” Misty sounded almost breathless as she scribbled a sloppy signature on a fan’s homemade t-shirt.  
“Nice shirt, by the way.” This she said to the fan, a lanky teenaged boy who looked like he was going to faint on the spot.  
  
    “You did an amazing job, Misty. Really.”  
  
Nat caught up with them, wedging herself between the two.  
“Yeah, Mer--”  
  
    “Nat, don’t call me that. Makes me think I’m in trouble with my _abuela_.”  
  
    “Sorry, Misty. But you knocked ‘em dead. Didn’t you see? Nancy took her top off, it was so good.”  
  
Bucky raised his eyebrows. “Who the hell is Nancy?”  
  
    “...the girl who took her top off, James. Try to keep up.”  
  
Misty, who was now signing with Clint, suddenly said “Uh-uh, _no_ ” aloud. Clint grinned and shrugged, holding his hands up in surrender.  
  
    “What is it?” Bucky asked, allowing security to usher him and his bandmates behind a thick black curtain, into the backstage area. They were lead by their security team through the halls of the venue and through the doors of their dressing room.  
  
    “ _I wanted to choose what we got for dinner tonight_ ,” Clint signed. Bucky looked repulsed.  
  
    “Yeah, no. _No._ ”  
  
Clint made a face. “Rude _._ ”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
    “ _You_ ** _sure_** _you don’t want any?_ ”  
  
Misty pulled a disgusted face as she signed “ _No, no, god no, please no_ ” back to Clint. Nat shrugged and pulled the package of beef jerky closer to her.  
  
    “More for us.”  
  
Misty snorted and went to take a bite of her own meal-- a hoagie with extra spinach -- but the loud _spshhhht_ of an aerosol can interrupted her. Clint beamed at her as he sprayed another glob of nacho cheese into his mouth. Misty slowly lowered her sandwich with a pained look, before reaching out and swiftly swatting Clint in the back of the head (with her flesh hand, she wasn’t a _jerk_ ). Clint made an outraged sound, Nat took the opportunity to steal his can of cheese, and Bucky gingerly pulled his slice of pizza away from the three of them.  
  
    “If you guys get scurvy from eating like coked-up raccoons, I’m gonna be pissed,” he grumbled. Misty looked unimpressed.  
  
    “And _your_ dinner’s so damn healthy?”  
  
    “It… has green peppers. Somewhere. I think.”  
  
    “ _Beef jerky is pure protein!_ ” Clint protested, scowling as he signed.  
  
    “ _Beef jerky is pure_ ** _nasty_** _,_ ” Misty retorted.  
  
A loud clatter came from the dressing room door, and a man who looked like he had gotten lost on the way to a futures analysts’ convention appeared.  
  
    “Hey, Phil,” Bucky mumbled from around another mouthful of pizza.  
  
    “Hi--” Phil stopped short at the sight of what Nat and Clint were eating. “Any chance I could convince the two of you to eat a vegetable…?” He signed as he spoke, a little slowly and with a few mistakes, but Clint got the gist.  
  
    “ _What… is… V-E-G-E-T-A-B-L-E?”_ Clint asked, finger-spelling the word just to be a smartass,  a wide-eyed look of wonder on his face. Misty snorted into her coffee cup and Nat gnawed even more voraciously on her beef jerky. Phil gave Bucky a look that clearly said ‘This is your band. These are your people.’ to which Bucky merely shook his head with a small amused smile and took a huge swig of beer.  
  
    “...right. Anyway, can we get going soon? Fans are waiting for autographs and pictures outside.”  
  
    “We’ll go if you have some of this cheese, Phil,” Nat said cajolingly, shaking the can at him. Phil pulled a truly impressive full-body recoil, not dignifying her with a verbal answer.  
  
    “10 minutes, then we’re going back out. Try not to smell like… that stuff.”  
  
  
\---  
  
  
Finally back on their tour bus for the night, Nat was snoring softly, her legs draped across Clint’s lap as the pair lay on Nat’s bunk bed (since Clint’s had a giant pile of filthy laundry occupying it). He was bent over a glowing laptop screen with a focused look, only breaking now and then to swiftly type a flurry of words, or smile softly as he read something on the screen.  
  
Phil, Bucky and Misty were all seated at the kitchen table towards the front of the bus, completely engrossed in a game of cards. Bucky was only half-listening as Phil spoke; he was too busy trying to decide whether to use his Draw 2 or Draw 4 card. Misty had just destroyed him using Reverse, Skip, _and_ a Draw 4 card. _Uno_ was serious business on the Howling Commandos bus.  
  
    “I spoke with James Rhodes while you guys were signing autographs,” Phil continued, frowning slightly at his own cards. Misty caught his eye and smiled in a way that let him know that she had a couple of Draw 4 cards for him, too.  
  
    “Rhodey? I haven’t seen him in _years_ ,” Misty mused. Bucky lay down a green 7 and flashed an innocent look at Phil; he knew damn well their manager had every colour _but_ green.  
  
    “Thanks, Buck. Really. Yeah, Rhodey’s doing pretty well… I spoke to him, and I think we’ve got our opener.”  
  
    “Redwingz?” Misty asked, barely noticing when Phil put down a Skip card. Phil nodded, but Bucky hummed thoughtfully at his cards again before replying.  
  
    “Who-wings?” Bucky asked.  
  
    “Redwingz,” Phil repeated. “Pretty popular in the underground punk scene--”  
  
    “They any good?”  
  
Misty stared at Bucky blankly after he spoke.  
  
    “Well, _yeah,_ ” Phil replied with a small frown. “Kinda political, loyal fanbase, good stuff. Google them.” He shifted in his seat and groaned as several vertebrae popped.  
  
    “Go to bed, old man.” Nat’s voice was muffled and sleepy, and Clint jerked in surprise before returning to typing.  
  
    “It’s creepy as _fuck_ when you do that, Nat. We never know when you’re actually sleeping.”  
  
    “Keeps you on your toes, James.”  
  
Phil stifled a yawn behind his hand, casually laying down his second-to-last card. “Oh-- _uno_. And yeah, I think I’ll go to bed.”  
  
    “I think I’m ready for bed too,” Misty added. She twisted around in her seat and waved her metal arm to get Clint’s attention. “You mind being on twist duty when you’re done being all lovey dovey with your boo thang?”  
  
Clint rolled his eyes and nodded. “Yeah, just gimme like ten minutes with my husband and then I’ll be ready. Are we using glycerin? Cause I hate the way that shit makes my hands feel,” he added, eyes still focused on the screen.  
  
    “We don’t have to use it if you don’t like it,” Misty replied, now rummaging around her bunk to get the required hair products. There was a slight pause, and then:  
  
    “James Buchanan Barnes! Stay the hell OUT of my Shea Moisture!"  
  
  
  
  
Later, Nat and Clint sprawled on either side of Bucky on the built in sofa, blearily watching him type ‘Redwingz concert’ into the YouTube search box. Misty was tucked into her bed, snoring very quietly (although she absolutely refused to believe that she did so).  
  
The fingers of Bucky’s left hand clacked noisily against the keyboard as he tapped the down arrow key, reading the titles of the videos aloud.  
  
    “‘Redwingz Fistfight’... ‘Redwingz gets bottled’... what the fuck-- ‘Wilson loses his shit’... who’s Wilson?”  
  
    “Frontman. Sam Wilson,” Clint said, waving his phone slightly; he was reading the short Wikipedia article about the band, slumped almost all the way off the seat.  
  
    “Click that one,” Nat said, pointing at a video titled ‘Redwingz BEST GIG EVER.’  
  
Halfway through the video, they were all sitting up.  
    “Fuck, they’re _good_ ,” Nat murmured. “What the f-- some asshole from the audience just grabbed him!”  
  
    “ _Wilson has a hell of a right hook_ ,” Clint signed, humming in approval.

Nat’s phone buzzed in her hand, and after she glanced at the screen a slow smile curled her lips.  
    “Gotta go, boys. Don’t wait up.”  
  
    “ _Who are you meeting?_ ” Clint mirrored her smirk as he signed, knowing precisely what her facial expression meant.  
  
    “Nancy. The girl from earlier, with the uhm… big… personality.”  
  
Clint’s eyes widened. “Tell her thanks for the boobs, and that they’re… nice.”  
  
    “I’ll do better than _tell_ her,” Nat purred, standing and smoothly whipping her hair into a ponytail. She glanced at Bucky, who was still watching the video with a frown, his lips slightly parted. He looked oddly stunned.  
  
    “ _Try to be back before we leave_ ,” Clint signed, yawning widely at the end. “Our flight leaves at 7:35 AM.”  
  
    “ _No promises,_ ” Nat signed back with a saucy wink. She punched Bucky on the shoulder in farewell (he only grunted in reply) and disappeared down the steps.  
  
Clint gave Bucky a strange look before shrugging and shuffling off to bed.  
  
Bucky barely noticed anything around him, his eyes still on the video. Truthfully, his eyes were on _Wilson_ , because jesus fuck how did anyone look _that_ attractive getting punched in the face mid-song?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We promise we'll try not to let two fucking months pass between updates again. Ehehe. Come yell nice things at us [HERE](http://sweet-coffee-jelly.tumblr.com/) and [HERE](http://spooky-redwing.tumblr.com/) .
> 
> The song that Howling Commandos played was "Two Weeks" by All That Remains: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnQ9yyTFvp0


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Redwingz and Howling Commandos meet! Sam makes a new friend in the audience at one of their shows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... technically it HASN'T been two months (it's been six,) so we kept our promise, right? 
> 
> We hope you enjoy! Chapter 4 is already underway ;D

Sam could feel it in the pit of his stomach as he gazed out the window of the band’s new tour bus. This was it. All of the sweat, blood, fist fights and tears had all led up to this moment: opening up for one of the most popular metal bands in recent history, Howling Commandos. The closer they got to the Ford Amphitheatre, the more Sam felt like butterflies made of lead were flapping around in his stomach. Or something. The others were speaking quietly among themselves, giving Sam space to sort through the fog of his mind. Sharon was trying to convince the others to try some of her vegan shepherd's pie that she’d baked in the new kitchen. As usual, Allison was resisting and Rhodey had relented, although he was currently chewing very slowly with a look of mild distress.  
  
During the trip, Sam used some breathing techniques and meditation that Sharon had taught him to steady and ease his mind of anxiety. He usually didn’t get anxious when it came to music and performing, but finally getting their big break that many bands like them had clawed and fought for was nerve-wracking. Sam was just fearful that something would go wrong on the tour.  
  
In through the nose, out through the mouth and relax. _Clear your mind of clutter and extra noise. Rinse and repeat until you’re zen_ ...or whatever Sharon always liked to say.  
  
Sam had almost reached a level of acceptable calm when the bus filled with smoke; Sharon had forgotten her “These Taste Just Like Meat!” Tofu BBQ “Ribs” in the oven.  
  
Only Allison heard Rhodey mutter, “Thank god.”  
  
  
\---

It wasn’t the _worst_ first meeting, but by Bucky’s standards it probably could’ve gone a little better. It had immediately started to go downhill when Bucky’s first thought was _‘Shit, he looks even better in person.’_  
  
Sam was --well, shit, Bucky wouldn’t ever say it out loud, but the man was _beautiful._ Now that he wasn’t covered in sweat (and occasionally blood,) Bucky could appreciate the high cheekbones, the intense dark eyes framed by thick black lashes… Sam Wilson was angular, slender with sinewy muscle where Bucky was heavyset and powerfully built, his heavily muscled arms a counterpoint to his soft midsection. Even as Bucky watched (read: _stared_ ) Sam raised an eyebrow in a clear ‘What the fuck are you looking at, guy?” expression. It was weirdly… elegant.  
  
Sam was wearing a shirt with a Black Power fist and the words “Can I Live” emblazoned in large letters, which went well with the somewhat unimpressed expression on his face as he gazed back at Bucky. The Redwingz bass player, a man with a small silver earring and a perpetual air of “Too Old For This Shit (But Not About to Quit)” sidled up beside Sam and nodded a greeting. Neither Bucky nor Sam had said a word yet, choosing instead to stare at each other for what felt like an eternity (but was about 10 seconds.) Bucky tore his eyes away from Sam and nodded respectfully at the man beside him. He’d never met James “Rhodey” Rhodes, a veteran in the scene and widely regarded as one of the best bassists, but he recognized him from pictures (and, of course, the surprisingly high number of Redwingz YouTube videos he’d “accidentally” ended up watching.) Rhodey smiled just a little as he clapped a companionable hand on Sam’s shoulder, making the other man lurch forward slightly.

  
    “You’re Barnes,” Rhodey said, moving closer. Beside him, Sam slouched along, trying not to look as in awe of his surroundings as he felt.  
  
    “Yeah-- Bucky.” Bucky held out his hand for Rhodey to shake, trying hard not to let his eyes rest for too long on Sam. (He failed.)  
“Looking forward to seeing you guys play,” Bucky continued. He finally allowed himself to meet Sam’s eyes and it felt like the fucking ground fell out from under his feet, but what fell out of his _mouth_ was: “Saw some of your videos. Got a pretty solid right hook there, Wilson. Maybe see how long you can lay off the fighting, though.”  
  
Rhodey smiled wider now, and anyone who knew him well knew that special ‘you done fucked up’ smile. Sam leaned forward a little, his impressively unimpressed eyebrow arched again.  
  
    “Barnes,” he said in a low voice. Bucky couldn’t help leaning in to hear better, so he missed Rhodey clearly hiding a laugh.  
“I don’t start fights, but I fuckin’ _finish_ them,” Sam said smoothly. Bucky blinked. The way that Sam had spoken, the strangely heated look he’d levelled at Bucky -- not angry, just _intense_ \-- had shot through Bucky’s whole body, making him feel weirdly hot. And then, it was suddenly gone, Sam back to looking as though he had already given Bucky the once-over and dismissed him at the same time. 

 

 

  
Things hadn’t improved between Bucky and Sam since then. The crowds that came to see Redwingz and Howling Commando were pretty different, leading to some ugly scuffles (and one or two full-out brawls) in the audience. Sam was unbothered; this was his world, after all -- but Bucky was kind of uneasy. Although there were some rough characters in the scene, violence wasn’t what _his_ band was about. They’d made their music the focus of their performances, not fists and blood. When he’d said as much to Sam, Sam had merely given him a withering look and said that yeah, the _rest_ of Barnes’ band seemed to be about music but that Barnes himself had seemed more concerned with being on magazine covers. (That one had rankled Bucky. As if it was _their_ fault they’d been featured on a _Spin_ cover once. Or twice.)  
  
Almost as bad as their sniping was their weirdly antagonistic flirting, Bucky snidely suggesting that Sam wear even tighter pants to show his ass off, Sam asking if Bucky practiced that pretty pout in the mirror, Bucky making a lewd comment about the way that Sam wrapped his fingers around the microphone and brought his mouth close-- but not quite touching; Sam musing loudly whether Bucky flicking his shoulder-length hair out of his face was supposed to be sexy, because it _wasn’t_ (it was)...  
  
But despite their bickering… the tour was going well. _Really_ well; Redwingz pulled in the hardcore locals, and Howling Commandos brought in the huge crowds. And Sam… Sam had been like a firecracker, working the crowds up and delivering performances that left everyone drenched in sweat. And he hadn’t really _fought_ , Bucky allowed himself to think. He’d just yelled back at people who’d yelled stupid shit at him. Bucky expected far more physical fighting, but maybe that was unfair; those YouTube videos had been edited to include _only_ the fighting that had broken out over the course of dozens of gigs.  
  
  
  
  
That is, until tonight. Sam was usually good at ignoring the stupid shit that people yelled at him; he could ignore jibes about his sexuality, his music, and even his race-- he could shrug most of it off (or he’d be fighting at almost every gig he played.) But some asshole had gone the extra mile tonight. When Sam heard what the guy screamed, it took him a moment to realize exactly what had been said and he blinked a few times, missing his queue. The band carried on, not missing a beat and he faintly heard Sharon call his name… _Get it together, Wilson._ Sam surged back into the song, deciding with a wrench to ignore the man. This was nothing, and besides, this [song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvfhgH3RbzM) always brought out the butthurt douchebags; the lyrics “ _Your graddaddy’s in the Ku Klux Klan_ ” tended to piss certain people off, and, well, hit dogs will holler.

  
So, fine. He’d be the bigger guy ( _Why do Black folks always have to fucking take the high road?_ ) and power through the performance. He could do this.  
  
The second time the guy yelled the phrase, Sam’s jaw clenched and he breathed out hard during a brief pause in singing.  
  
Beside him, Rhodey said angrily. “What the fuck is he saying?” and Allison shouted “Shut _up_ !” at the offending audience member. Sam steeled himself to finish the set, but…  
  
But the guy yelled it a third time, this time accompanied by an ugly, unmistakable gesture. Sam had looked up just in time to see him; some asshole in a Howling Commandos shirt and a greasy mullet because _of course_ . The rest of the audience was too busy hooting and screaming to notice Sam’s sudden laser-like focus on one spot in the heaving crowd. He had a feeling that this guy wouldn’t be satisfied with just words-- and soon enough, Sam saw it. The asshole in the crowd produced a glass bottle out of thin air and Sam barely had time to react before it shattered on the stage next to him. Allison fumbled a little, and Sam saw her picking gingerly at her arm.  
  
    “Did you get cut?!” he shouted, arched away from the mic. She nodded, but then waved a hand dismissively. Unfortunately, said hand was flecked with blood. Sam turned back to the audience and saw the same guy laughing uproariously. And that was enough.  
  
The crowd didn’t notice Sam’s subtle hand signal to Allison to take over vocals (bloodied hand and all.) She exchanged an ‘ _Oh, shit’_ look with Rhodey and the audience didn’t notice that, either.  
  
They _did_ notice when the lead singer of Redwingz leapt into the audience and started beating the shit out of a guy.  
  
It was, admittedly, one of their more memorable closing sets.  
  
\---  
  
Bucky stood up, patting his pockets for his lighter as his eyes scanned the setlist that Clint had thrust in front of him. He hated that he still got pre-show jitters, but the adrenaline helped to deliver better performances. At least the crowd sounded amped tonight (was it just him, or was there even more screaming than usual?)  
  
Bucky paused his fruitless search for his lighter and used his hands to sign “ _Can we play[Waking the Demon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vq3hP9Sd1sM) _ _instead of[Your Betrayal](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6XEPXYwd0yY) ?_ ” to Clint. Clint made a face and held up a hand -- _Wait_ \-- while he went to confer with Nat and Misty.  Bucky finally found his lighter among a mess of crumpled-up paper and reached for his cigarette pack--  
  
    “Outside.”  
  
    “C’mon, Misty…”  
  
    “Out. Side. Don’t make my hair smell like smoke, Barnes. Do you know how much shampoo I go through?” Misty drawled, barely looking up from her phone as she gestured to her huge Afro.  
  
Nat yelled from the back of the bus, where she had been taking her pre-show nap. “Don’t change the setlist, asshole!”  
  
Clint laughed as Bucky flipped them off and moved to go outside to smoke -- but  Misty sat up straight and gestured frantically to get everyone’s attention.  
  
    “Look at this shit!” she breathed, setting her phone down so she could sign to Clint as she spoke. Her metal hand, beautifully painted in swirling designs, glinted in the lights over their small, cramped ‘kitchen’ table.

“Someone snapchatted it-- Sam went _off_ on some shithead…” They hovered around the screen and watched in silence for a few seconds. Misty’s phone kept pinging, and after they finished watching the shaky video, she tapped on the Twitter app and let out a real cackle.  
  
“Look at this! There are _dozens_ of tweets coming in now about the fight… this one --"

Misty scrolled down the screen a little and laughed disbelievingly. "This chick says--"   
  
Misty continued murmuring under her breath, swiftly going through other Tweets-- until she guffawed and read another one aloud:  
  


    “ _Holy shit. Remind me not to piss Sam off,_ ” Clint signed. Nat scoffed.  
  
    “ _You get your ass kicked enough by yourself as is.”_ she signed back, grinning as Misty threw her head back and laughed. Bucky, however, didn’t look amused-- he was frowning.  
  
    “Sam-- I mean, Wilson beat up an audience member?” he asked, bending to read Misty’s phone over her shoulder. “He couldn’t keep his head for one set?”  
  
Misty shot him a look. “Sounds like whatever the dude said to Sam was pretty shitty, though…”  
  
    “That’s no excuse,” Bucky returned, rolling his eyes. “Just-- forget it. I’m gonna smoke.” He ignored Clint and Nat’s close scrutiny as he left the bus, clattering down the stairs.  
  
Outside, Bucky exhaled a stream of smoke and felt himself relax as he watched a figure come closer. It was hard to see in the dim lights of the parking lot, but the figure stumbled a little and leaned hard against a street lamp. Soon the sound of a voice carried across the quiet lot, barely audible over the faint roar of the crowd some distance away. Bucky’s nerves jangled; Howling Commandos would be going on soon (and he would likely have to deal with the fallout of Sam’s actions later on.)

  
    “Yeah, fuck ‘im. Lifetime ban,” Sam’s voice came from somewhere nearby and Bucky fought every instinct to stop eavesdropping.  
“You did what? Steve, you’re a crazy son of a bitch.” Sam laughed a little and then let out a small, harsh breath. He sounded like he was in pain.  
“Yeah. Later. Thanks.”  
  
Bucky couldn’t help it (he could, but he didn’t want to). He rounded the corner of his tour bus and saw Sam spitting onto the asphalt. Sam wiped his mouth and face and leaned up, finally catching sight of Bucky. Sam looked awful.  
  
    “Knew you’d lose it one day, Wilson,” he said, not noticing the teasing edge to his own voice. But Sam sneered, his lips stained with blood visible even in the dull lights overhead. It was strangely beautiful.  
  
    “Why don’t you mind your _fucking_ business, Barnes?” His eyes bore into Bucky, a strange mixture of anger and ... _hurt_ ?  
  
He scoffed, brushed roughly by Bucky. And then he was gone.


End file.
